The Home Altar

After all that work; building, cutting, measuring, maneuvering, digging and setting a new home for the plants we’ve been cultivating; it leads to this. An empty space, a void, a hole in the ground, and a deep sense of sadness and loss just as the evidence of fruit was showing. Why this unhappy outcome and this gnarly finish to years of pruning, supporting and caring?

A fungus colloquially called orange bramble rust that infects wild brambles, blackberries, and black raspberries had appeared. The infection is systemic, meaning it makes the current growth sick, infects the crown and the roots, Every new growth would become weaker, sicker, and less fruitful. Worse yet, the spores contained in the waxy pustules on the leaves could spread the infection to other healthy plants. There was no way to prune or treat the plant in a manner that would restore healthy functioning. A slow and miserable withering and the loss of capacity to bear fruit was all we could look forward to.

This meant that I had to go against every gardening instinct in my body, to destroy what was not yet ripe and the bring this beautiful plant that had fed us to an end. It was the only way to try and preserve the remaining bushes.

The process was painstaking, because I wanted to minimize the spread of spores. So I dismantled the plant by hand, branch by branch with pruning shears and heavy trash bags to seal up the infected remains. I cannot compost, burn, or shred these without a risk of bringing the fungus to other plants.

After cutting away everything, I had the challenging task of digging up the crown and trying to pull as many roots out of the ground as possible, knowing that any new growth from a remnant of this plant would still be infected. The solemn proceeding of this experience was filled with so many feelings. Grief, disappointment, anger, relief, sorrow all came calling until the last of the roots were bagged and sealed up.

In this moment, I realized that so much of my work and ministry happens in deep tension with systemic factors that keep bringing the social illness and harm back to life, over and over. I am aware of my own laden feelings, and the voices inside me pleading to rescue even a part of this magnificent structure we have cultivated. They cry out “Let’s just cut away the parts that are sick! What if we save the parts that don’t look too bad? Couldn’t we wait until we receive the benefit of all these berries? So much love, attention, care, and cost has been sunk into this structure, surely we can save the system by a little light pruning and some fungicide spray!”

While not so horticultural in nature, are these not the very voices that have the power to stay the hand of even those of us who are desperate to alleviate pain and to make things better for our neighbors who are withering under systemic oppression? The desire to save, to preserve, to get one more thing out of the whole sick bramble, it not only deludes us into putting the shears away, but it creates the illusion that maybe it will be okay somehow. The same forces that paralyze our bodies and our action also numb and dissociate our deep feelings of loss and grief as we try to prepare for something new. Even as the evidence, says that to have a chance for life, radical change is necessary, I can feel the temptation to tinkering around the edges. When advocates speak of dismantling white supremacy or structural poverty or patriarchy, it looks more like taking down the bramble then some sort of stochastic revolutionary implosion. When the whole system is sick, the whole system needs to go, and we will need deep forbearance and love to journey through the empty space before something new emerges.

This meant it was important to not only do the deed, and to do it with great care, but to do it completely, and to give myself permission to feel all of those feelings as I worked. Snip, snip, snip. Spraying the neighboring plants. Digging and pulling and chopping. Bagging and sealing and mourning. Making the ground ready. Ready for rest and rejuvenation, and for cleansing. Ready to receive new life, something that is not susceptible to this blight, perhaps a beautiful red raspberry that will take years to nurture into the same stature and magnificence.

For now, I will sit with the empty space, grieve, and give thanks for the past fruits and especially for the courage to act. The Holy One will dwell in that emptiness right alongside me, all around me, deep within me, and in that hole, ensuring that it is not a grave, but rather a furrow.

Be gentle with yourself, you are worth it.

Peace and Everything Good,

The Rev. JM Longworth, OEF Spiritual Direction and Trauma Care

https://www.sdicompanions.org/sdi-profile/GreenMtFriarOEF/ To book an appointment: https://calendly.com/greenmtfriaroef

The places we live have plenty of locations for special purposes; rooms to prepare meals and store food, rooms for breaking bread, rooms for cleaning and caring for our bodies, rooms for rest, rooms for work, rooms for play, and rooms for putting things away until they’re needed. When an activity has a space, whether that’s a room, a corner of a room, a closet, or just one little spot, it encourages and facilitates that activity as a part of our daily living. The same can be true of our prayer and spiritual practice, making physical space for it can help us to make temporal and emotional space for it in our days.

While it is true that many practices can happen in virtually any space, dedicating space is a powerful reminder that this is an essential activity of daily life. While Jesus recommends entering a prayer closet and praying in secret (Matthew 6:6), I believe that this guidance is more about an interior location within ourselves, versus a space in our domicile. Furthermore, as a queer person of faith, I really dislike the metaphor of meeting God only in the closet.

At the same time, I have found it to be a powerful reminder to have a space that invites me back into a deeper relationship with God in the place where I live. The meditation cushion and singing bowl invite me to the power of silence and now. The icons and art give me a place to fix my gaze and to be beheld in love. The vows of my community remind me of my promises. A begging bowl invites me into practices of shameless begging for the sake of my neighbors and world. My father’s pondering chair invites me to gentle contemplation. My beloved sibling’s crocheted prayer shawl wraps me in comfort and holy love. Various rosaries invite me into conversation with God(ess), the Holy Mother, and with Christ. This space invites me over and over and over into a posture and attitude of reverence, prayer, and love.

This doesn’t mean that this is the only place I pray or practice my spirituality. Indeed there is ample prayer that echoes forth in walks around the neighborhood, at the sink washing dishes, in the gardens as I tend the earth (more on this in part 2), beside the dog as she presses into me, and at my bedside as I begin and end each day. What makes it powerful is that this space is one that I enter daily, and I am invited once more to be mindful of God and neighbor in a gentle and compassionate way.

It’s one small corner in my living space that is loaded with meaning and the chance for additional meaning making abounds. For this, I am deeply grateful.

Practice

• Is there a spot in your home that could be an intentional place of prayer?
• Where would it be?
• What might you put there?
• What items, artifacts, and tools help you connect with yourself, with the divine, with beloved ancestors, and with current kinfolk in faith?
• How might you use this space?
• Could you put it somewhere that you see daily, even if it isn’t obvious to a visitor in your home?

Be gentle with yourself, you are worth it.

Peace and Everything Good,

The Rev. JM Longworth, OEF Spiritual Direction and Trauma Care

https://www.sdicompanions.org/sdi-profile/GreenMtFriarOEF/ To book an appointment: https://calendly.com/greenmtfriaroef

Previously, I wrote about how my rule of life serves as a trellis for my spiritual life, comparing it to the structures I erected in the garden to support the flexible growth and health of the raspberry patch.

The patch of course, left to its own devices would simply wander, grow, and spread all on its own. The sun, rain, and soil provide the nourishment and energy needed for growth, leaves, and flowers; and the local crew of bumblebees, honeybees, and other pollinators take care of bringing the patch to fruition. There isn’t much I can do to help with any of these processes.

What the trellis allows for is protection, partnership, and containment. Gathering and training the canes into one space keeps them from being stepped on or mowed over. Providing access to the base of the plant means that we can feed the soil and provide protective mulch to keep down weeds and promote the health of the raspberry plants. Containment allows for the plant to grow vigorously without overrunning the rest of the garden.

The past few years of intense weather and some less sturdy construction choices led to the slow and steady collapse of the first trellis. The patchwork of extra hooks, ground stakes, and ratchet straps that held it up for the past year seemed almost relieved to be released from their duty this spring.

In its place, I constructed a trellis that was both similar and different. The shapes, guide wires, and positioning mirrored the first structure. The materials and methods shifted. The lumber was replaced with pressure treated material to promote longer life out in the elements. The guide wires used a heavy gauge braided wire and tensioners to replace clothesline and clamps. The posts were sunk two feet into the earth and stabilized with post fixing foam. I even added the solar lantern post caps for beauty and to add an illuminating and reflective quality to the structure.

This major upgrade and repair to this portion of the garden reminds me of the importance of revising, updating, and refreshing my rule of life. While I expect this garden repair to last for many years before it needs to be rebuilt, I try to bring my rule of life under